"It was one hell of a ride, eh, Carrots?"

Judy Hopps leaned back on her heels, fighting the urge to sneeze as a plume of dust sprang up in her face. Spring cleaning was always a chore, especially for the Hopps family. Bonnie insisted there had to be a pack rat somewhere in her husband's family tree; how else could they explain why he'd kept a broken carrot press in the attic for three years? It seemed the trait had passed on to his daughter, too: her apartment, while a good deal larger than the one she'd first rented upon moving to Zootopia, was hardly what you could call spacious. And yet the rabbit had managed to stuff an impressive amount of clutter into her household. A mismatched, hand-painted mug that she'd received as Bucky and Pronk's going-away present sat atop her dining table, as did the ancient carrot pen that had landed Bellweather in prison for the past half-decade. The mayor had been paroled relatively quickly (likely due to a combination of good behavior and at least one friend in high places), but not a single case of savagery had been reported since her release.

The pen was joined by an iPawd that Clawhauser had given her, stuffed full of Gazelle's latest releases. Judy wouldn't admit it, but she had grown far too fond of one of the artist's more popular releases, to the point that even the chubby cheetah had requested that she stop singing. Besides these sentimental keepsakes, a few other items lay scattered around, plucked from her cramped attic for practical reasons. The rest had been piled into a series of cardboard boxes that lined the small enclosure, waiting for the lapine to lug them out of the apartment and down to the consignment store around the block. For now, however, Judy Hopps was busy filling another box with the kinds of things she'd sworn she'd never keep around the house: restaurant receipts, ticket stubs to old movies, and… wait, what was that? The rabbit's paw closed around a large wooden frame, the grimy glass inside hiding the picture behind from view.

Curious, Judy took a breath, blowing the dust from the frame and immediately sneezing as it swirled back into her nose. She rolled back onto her rear, bringing the frame with her and studying the newly-revealed image for a second. With a slight shock, she realized the framed photo contained the members of the Zootopia Police Department from her first year on the force. There was Officer Francine in the back, her imposing frame softened somewhat by the goofy grin plastered across her face. In front of her stood Rhinowitz and McHorn, the two rhinos wearing the same forced smile (and very similar ill-fitting dress uniforms). The rabbit's gaze drifted downwards, one paw clearing the dust out of the way to reveal…

"Nick."

She wasn't aware she'd spoken out loud. Not that there was anyone to hear her; her neighbors were the polar opposite of Bucky and Pronk, quiet as the churchmice that they were and deaf as the doormice that they worked alongside. The discovery of the old picture had given her a start; Judy had thought it lost long ago, swept up in the whirlwind that had been the past five years. The rabbit cracked a smile as she examined the picture. She didn't look that different; a little thinner, sure, but otherwise nearly indistinguishable from the Judy Hopps of today. It wasn't herself that Judy was focused on, however; it was the crimson-coated canine seated next to her, his trademark grin bearing every bit of smug self-confidence that it'd had the day they'd met.

Of course, there were a few differences between Nick Wilde the hustler and the Nick in the picture. Chief among them was that the previous Nicholas Wilde would never have dreamed of being friends with a rabbit, much less initiating a relationship. And yet he'd tugged her away as the pair was leaving work, offering to pay for a round at the Carrot Cantena. She'd been suspicious from the beginning; Nick had no love for either carrot juice or paying for things. Nevertheless, Judy had nothing better to do, and if Nick was going to play a prank on her, she'd at least get a free drink out of it.

As it turned out, Judy got three free drinks out of the occasion, as well as the series of shots she threw back in her failed attempt to drink Nick under the table. By the time the two emerged from the bar, neither of them were in a fit state to drive. And so the pair proceeded toward Judy's house, the rabbit leaning against his chest to keep herself from pitching over. The fox's light, almost floral scent had still swirled within her lungs as they reached her door. She'd murmured something about enjoying the night, or at least the parts she remembered. Nick's teeth flashed in the dim light of the streetlamps as he snickered. Then he'd cocked his head slightly, that devilish grin slipping onto his face, and said, "Well, Carrots, if you're not going to remember tonight, I might as well do this."

A sober Judy might have been able to dodge the fox's muzzle, but the buzzed bunny had no chance. In fact, it took her a few seconds to even register the fact that her partner had kissed her. And a hell of a lot more to realize that she'd enjoyed it. A lot. When the pieces finally clicked together, Judy opened her mouth to speak, then thought better; she had better things to do with her lips. Judy's impression was that she'd then leapt gracefully into her partner's arms. Nick had told her, days later, that she'd actually tackled him with as much force as her two-and-a-half frame could muster. Either way, the end result was the same: Judy Hopps found herself wrapped around her partner's torso, her lips pressed firmly to the fox's and her nose full of the smell of violets.

To the rabbit's chagrin, the booze in her bloodstream blocked any memory of the night past that. All she could remember was that she'd awoken to a fox's tail wrapped around her (thankfully not in lieu of clothing), a pounding headache, and the soft sound of her neighbors discussing the status of her and Nick's relationship. Oddly enough, Bucky and Pronk's conversation was slightly less awkward than the one between Judy and her partner. It didn't help that Nick apparently couldn't refrain from cracking jokes about the previous night, or that his shirt appeared to have been torn open by a bunny gone savage.

Still, the pair had managed to muddle through their various issues. Judy had been worried about what would happen if the department, the chief, or her parents found out. Nick, meanwhile, had his own concerns about just how much the alcohol had contributed to Judy's reciprocation of his kiss. Both worries were swiftly dealt with; Nick agreed that their relationship should remain a secret, although he was mostly worried about Judy's parents; he was sure Bogo would, in his words, "Give less of a fuck than a virgin churchmouse". Judy, meanwhile, put Nick's fears to rest via a gentle peck on the fox's muzzle. And so the pair had begun their clandestine courtship, using coffee breaks and stakeouts as a chance to spend some time together without the fear of being exposed. But while the pair were excellent hustlers, they couldn't remain hidden forever.

It was Benjamin Clawhauser that had first figured it out. While he was oblivious to his fellow officers' disinterest in Gazelle's latest album, the cheetah had his frosting-flecked finger firmly upon the pulse of the precinct gossip. Clawhauser had been able to piece together the locker-room murmurs, the quick, furtive glances they shared when they thought no one else was looking, the subtle, impossible-to-remove traces of each others' scent. And while the flabby feline would never intentionally out the couple, he couldn't conceal his glee once it had all clicked in his head. After all, he'd wanted the two together since their first unofficial case; in Benjamin's opinion, the two were the cutest couple since Mayor Bellweather and her ex-husband had reunited. Once the other officers noticed the extra spring in Clawhauser's step, it wasn't long until they, too, caught on to the surreptitious romance. True to Judy's fears, word eventually made its way to Chief Bogo. But true to Nick's expectations, the chief couldn't care less what the pair did on their off time. They were, of course, lectured for half an hour on the myriad of ways in which their relationship broke regulations, but Bogo never got around to actually confirming the two had separated.

Judy's thumb brushed over the dusty glass, revealing the face of their ex-boss. He was, as always, wearing a pronounced frown; he hadn't enjoyed sitting still for an hour while a fiddly ferret photographer arranged and rearranged the officers, and had adamantly refused to say "cheese". A slight hint of a smile danced across Judy's face as she recalled the hard-assed buffalo's final words to her, spoken a year ago at the chief's official retirement party: "Hopps, you and your partner have collectively taken at least a decade off of my life."After a beat, the corners of Bogo's mouth had lifted into one of his rare smiles as he added, "Keep up the good work."

Judy stood as best she could in the cramped space, making her way toward the trapdoor that led down into the rest of the house. Her paw brushed over the image once more, the rabbit's half-smile fading away as the fox's face came into clearer view. Had Nick seen the rough patch coming? Was that why he'd been so much more attentive, more caring, more, ahem, passionate? Or had she simply not realized how much she valued his love until it was gone?

They hadn't fallen out of love, oh no. Judy was sure of that. And despite her fears to the contrary, her parents had eventually come around to the idea of their daughter dating a fox. Were Judy to assign blame, then, it would fall squarely on the shoulders of one Roberta Pawlson. The wolf, who'd previously served as one of Bogo's closer aides, had taken over the department after the buffalo's retirement. While Judy honestly couldn't have imagined such a thing, she was even more of a hardass than her predecessor. Unfortunately for the couple, this included requiring the officers to follow regulations to a T. And since Judy and Nick's relationship had been old news for a while, Roberta promptly gave them two options: either their romantic or their workplace partnership would end.

Nicholas Wilde, being who he was, chose the third option: hide. There was no reason they had to stop seeing each other, he said. They just had to keep it a secret from everyone, including Clawhauser this time.

For Judy, the choice was a little tougher. On one paw, this had been her dream from the very beginning. She had made it as an officer; what's more, she had become a symbol to bunnies everywhere. If Judy could follow her dreams, why couldn't they? Judy simply wasn't sure if she was prepared to risk all that for Nick. But on the other paw, well, it was Nicholas Wilde. He'd stuck by her when no one else had, forgiven her when she. The two of them had a bond that went deeper than partners, deeper even than lovers. He'd trusted her enough to let her see how he really felt, something she'd never seen him do since then. And he'd taken the first step, stolen that first kiss, unlocked the feelings she hadn't even realized were there.

So she'd agreed. They'd keep it secret as they had before, steal what few moments they could to be together. And after work, what was to stop them from returning to Judy's apartment and spending as much time together as they wanted? Well, Bucky and Pronk's surprisingly keen hearing meant they couldn't always "spend time" the way they'd like, but other than that… It wasn't a foolproof plan, but it was the only thing that could keep the two of them together. At least, that's what Judy believed.

The rabbit padded into her dining room, wiping the last of the dust from the glass and taking a slow breath. It was only then that she realized she was shaking, her heart thudding almost audibly in her chest. Judy knew she shouldn't dwell on the past, and especially not on this. But she couldn't help it; finding the picture frame in the attic had unleashed a flood of memories that the rabbit was powerless to stop.

Judy had been unable to control herself back then, too. While the pair had grown adept at milking intimate moments out of their daily schedule, and while Nick had become a permanent fixture in Judy's apartment, the strain of hiding such a large part of her life had grown too much. If she couldn't be honest with her friends and coworkers, how could she be honest with herself? And so it was that Judy made what must have been one of the biggest mistakes of her life.

She told Nick it was over.

Judy had been more tactful than that, of course. She'd told Nick that she simply couldn't take the stress, that she didn't want to lie to everyone anymore. She told him that she still loved him, but that she just couldn't be his lover. And Nick told her that he understood. He smiled, gathered her in his arms - he still smelled like violets - and embraced her one last time. Then the fox stood, picked up his tie from where it lay strewn across the chair, and left her apartment for the last time.

It wasn't that she never saw him again. They were still partners, after all. But Judy could tell from the silences filling the car that she'd driven a wedge between them. For a few days, she'd worried that Nick had taken the breakup a lot worse than her; his usual smugness was subdued, his wit was slower than before, and he even failed to wear his sunglasses as often. Within two weeks, however, Nick returned to his usual, barely bearable self. Their banter resumed as if it had never stopped, and they even managed to socialize outside of work without relapsing into old habits. Judy had finally let herself relax, confident that she hadn't hurt Nick too badly… and then she met the vixen.

Nick had shown up to the Carrot Cantena a little late that Friday. When he arrived, it was with a curvy female fox clinging to his arm. Nick wove through the crowd, which had become accustomed to the sight of foxes ever since he'd become a regular, and quickly introduced his new friend to Judy. Samantha… Sally… whatever her name was, she was sweet, if a little saucy, and more than excited to meet some of "Nicky"'s coworkers.

Judy hated her.

The rabbit flashed back to the present day as a loud crack sounded in the room. Looking down, she saw that the glass within the frame had broken under her grip, Bogo's face now split by a smooth, almost clear line. She set the frame down next to the other keepsakes, her breathing slowing as she attempted to calm herself.

There hadn't been a reason to hate the fox. She was nothing but kind to Judy, and it's not like she was stealing Nick; Judy was the one that had called off their relationship. And yet Judy did hate her, for reasons that only became apparent much later. She hated her because she could cling to Nick's arm in a crowded bar, could nip along his neck as he shooed her away, could press her face in against his chest… Judy wondered if Nick still smelled like violets.

There was no point getting upset about the past, Judy told herself. Nick and the vixen were perfectly happy together, and had been for the past eight months. As for Judy herself, there were plenty of guys who'd die for the chance to date Officer Hopps; there was no reason for her to be lonely.

No reason at all.

Judy reached out to the picture once more, the smile that crept onto her face never quite reaching her eyes. She studied the image once more; the familiar gruffness of the rhinos, the always-excitable Clawhauser placing a pair of rabbit ears behind Bogo's head (a custom that she personally found rather insulting), the smiles on the faces of the officers… and her own face, glowing with happiness as she stood next to Nicholas Wilde.

Then Judy flicked her wrist, tossing the broken frame into one of the cardboard boxes against the walls of her house, and turned back toward the attic.

There were a lot more things the rabbit needed to throw away.